


Victory Tony Kirkoff

by thehobbem



Series: YOI Shorts [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Crack, Inspired by Twitter, M/M, no one gets victor's name right, victor is the benedict cumberbatch of YOI-verse: part II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehobbem/pseuds/thehobbem
Summary: 5 times the internet had no respect for Victor Niliforv’s Name + 1 Yuuri didn’t eitherOr:Victor Katsuki-Nuggetfluff: Part II
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: YOI Shorts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/830427
Comments: 68
Kudos: 361





	Victory Tony Kirkoff

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this gem on Twitter](https://twitter.com/nikiforoov/status/1280262011142758405)

1.

The off-season. Victor has learned to look forward to this precious, short time like he never thought he would; it’s a time of Hasetsu and katsudon, of dinner dates and late nights in bed with Yuuri. A time when he will never again be haunted by a silent, cold apartment.

Not that there isn’t something to be said for life during the skating season: the thrill, the unexpected, they’re finally back — they may have come back into his life in a fickle whirlwind of dance and champagne, but they are here to stay.

It’s just that the skating season is made of more than excitement, challenges, rewards, and friends old and new meeting for a couple of days; it is also built on frantic traveling, incessant interviews, time zones that trample over you like an elephant stampede, and expensive airport food washed down with cancelled flights and Yuuri-less days. 

All of that belongs to the past and the future, though. Victor’s _now_ is entirely occupied with taking a long bath and waiting for Yuuri to come back from his (extremely) late morning jog. Victor is more than happy to put up a wall between the present and the skating season. Twenty-year-old Victor would simply let one bleed into the other until there was no separating the two anymore; twenty-nine-year-old Victor knows better.

With his head reposing at the edge of the tub, the warmth of the water nearly lulls Victor to sleep, but a ping on his phone calls him back and he opens one eye: a message from Phichit. He dries his hand on a towel and gets the phone — Phichit’s messages are always amusing, no matter how prosaic they may seem to be.

> **Phichit**
> 
> That’s right mister, no more forvs for you!!! ヾ(`ヘ´)ﾉﾞ

...no more _what?!_

There’s a picture attached that Victor hopes will explain the message. It’s from an interview he gave at some point (they all blend together, if he’s being honest): while a reporter asks him a question, Victor looks down with a slight frown, probably considering his next answer. A completely unremarkable picture, with absolutely nothing uncommon happening. Why did Phichit send him this?

Upon closer inspection, though, he realizes the screenshot was taken with impeccable timing, making it look as if Victor is frowning at his own name showing up at the bottom of the screen:

**Victor Noforv**

A second message pings before he can decide if he hates or loves Phichit:

> **Yuuri**
> 
> Don’t worry, I’ll buy you some forvs on the way home. Don’t look so upset

With a sigh, Victor puts the phone away and closes his eyes once more. There are certain facts in life that there’s no use denying.

One: there is no wall that can stop the Niliforv Phenomenon from following him wherever he goes as long as he lives, and possibly even after death.

Two: Phichit is impossible, Yuuri an enabler, and Victor will never have peace again.

  
  
2.

Yakov grunts. “Hmm, not bad for an old man.”

Victor’s gasp and “how _dare_ you” come out weaker than usual; doing quad flips on repeat will do that to you when you’re almost thirty, which is honestly an insult. Standing at the exit door of his twenties is not doing any favors to his stamina, which has never been great to begin with, much less come anywhere near the miracle that is Yuuri’s (a miracle he never ceases to be thankful for night after night. _God_ is a word frequently on his lips, mixed with _Yuuri_ and _fuck_ as he basks in that blessed stamina).

As he sits down, distractedly nodding along as Yakov barks feedback at him, he lets his mind wander. What he and Yuuri need after today’s practice is some takeout and a long bubble bath. A shared one.

Normally, Victor would try to turn their bath into a poor excuse for something else, but today he thinks just the bath will be fine, thanks. Then again, having a naked Yuuri in his arms makes it really hard to—

Yurio’s snort is so loud it echoes around the rink, and more than a few heads turn his way.

“What’s so funny?” Victor asks, not particularly interested; Yurio’s sense of humor is so weird that Victor doesn’t get it 83% of the time. (The other 17% of the time is spent grappling with the fact Yurio even _has_ a sense of humor.)

By his side on the bench, Yurio throws him a viciously amused look. “You.”

Before Victor can even begin to pretend to be offended, Yurio shoves his phone in his face, with the Tumblr app open. On it, the hellyahfigureskating blog.

> **Visitor Nutcrackerov, Vancouver Olympics 2010 (Free Skate)**
> 
> The lines of the costume are meant to evoke Death, both in the dark and silver embroidery and the silhouette it creates. It’s not as flashy as most of his other costumes, but it is undeniably one of the most beautiful Nutcrackerov has ever worn.
> 
> KEEP READING  
>   
> 
> 
> **regardingluv**
> 
> _Visitor Nutcrackerov_
> 
> **Niliforoov**
> 
> No one even tries anymore
> 
> **iwritevicturi**
> 
> And I think that’s beautiful

Without a word, Victor gives him back his phone, refusing to dignify Yurio’s amusement with an answer. Still snickering, Yurio gets up to show the post to the other skaters across the rink, and not two minutes go by before Mila’s laughter rises and bounces off the walls. People back in Moscow can probably hear it.

At night, Victor logs into his alternate, anonymous Instagram account and contacts the founder of Yuri’s Angels again, sending her a few new pictures of Yuri Plisetsky. Saying the photos are less than flattering is generous. In all of them, Yurio’s hair is a mess thanks to an ungodly number of jumps, and plastered with sweat against his forehead; a couple are even of him mid-jump, teeth bared with the effort. The Angels won’t care, though; they’re starving for new “Russian Fairy” content.

Those pictures will be all over the internet before morning.

“What are you smiling about?” Yuuri asks him as they get ready for bed.

“Hmm? Oh you know,” he replies cheerfully, “just helping out a friend.”

  
  


3.

This is the second season since Victor decided to go back to the ice, but the difference between life now and life pre-retirement never ceases to amaze him. How can only one person have had such an unprecedented impact on the way he sees his own world?

Competitions in the BY years (i.e., Before Yuuri) had never been more than meeting mostly the same people in slightly different rinks in countries he couldn’t work up the energy to go out and see, or delivering smiles with practiced ease and offering the same carefully rehearsed answers that varied very little over the years.

Competitions in the AY years, however, are something else entirely. Mila once remarked it was a “good thing Yuuri gets you to leave the hotel,” but she wasn’t quite right about that. In truth, Victor’s the one who likes to get out more between the two of them; it’s just that having Yuuri by his side makes him feel like it’s worth exploring the world.

Now he takes pleasure in going places whether or not he’s been there before, there’s no need to rehearse smiles or perfect answers (to Yakov’s despair), and talking to people doesn’t feel like a boring use of his time.

“Hello, Victor!”

Well. Except for one person.

Victor draws in a deep breath and counts to ten. And then fifteen. Talking to the double-J Leroy fellow is the easiest way to become mentally and spiritually exhausted before a routine, all in the span of a few short seconds. Even watching Leroy drain the will to live out of Yurio weakens Victor.

“I gotta say, I didn’t think your comeback would excite a lot of interest—” Jay Leroy says, and Victor rolls his eyes as he lowers his head in the pretense of tightening the laces of his skates, “but this has to be the greatest compliment I’ve ever seen.”

He bites. Raising his head, Victor looks at him. “Pardon?”

“I found this on Twitter!” Jack Johnson says, showing him a Twitter thread open on his phone.

> **gnomeo** @andgnuliet
> 
> hot people are always hotter when you find out how nice they are
> 
> **sherwtf** @jonnlock542  
> Replying to @andgnuliet
> 
> looking at you, benedict cumberbatch
> 
> **omgkatsudonplease** @lilysummerwood  
> Replying to @andgnuliet and @jonnlock
> 
> And you, Vegemite Nutterbutterov
> 
> **nicaforv** @nicaforv **  
> **Replying to @lilysummerwood
> 
> VEGEMITE NUTTERBUTTEROV
> 
> **Maydey** @maydey  
> Replying to @lilysummerwood and @nicaforv
> 
> I hate that I still know exactly who that is.

Victor looks back at John Junior, expression studiously blank. His attempts to get Victor to fall for his childish provocations are nothing new, and if he thinks—

“I envy you,” Joshua Jackson says, looking wistfully at the thread. “No one’s ever called _me_ Vegemite, not even in Canada.” He looks back at Victor, with a look of new-found respect. “Guess you win this one. But!” He showers Victor with one of his annoying, toothy smiles, “this is just round one! We’ll see after tomorrow!”

And with such pronouncement, Jesse James walks away, leaving Victor with one of the most extreme cases of bafflement he’s ever had. Almost terminal, in fact.

The worst part is he doesn’t know what baffles him the most: Jojo’s genuine appreciation for the “compliment” or the fact that Twitter had actually gotten Benedict Cumberbatch’s name right.

  
  


4.

“So tell me, _chéri_ , how are the wedding preparations going?” asks Chris as the waiter brings them another bottle of wine.

Victor raises an eyebrow at the sudden question. There’d been a slight lull in the conversation for the past two minutes as they each checked their own phones, and at no point have they discussed Victor and Yuuri’s upcoming wedding.

Still, the curiosity is natural, he supposes.

“Well, you know, it’s hard to organize a wedding from a whole continent away,” he says, and Chris hums sympathetically. “If it weren’t for the Katsukis organizing basically everything, I don’t know when it would even happen, to be honest.”

“You mean… you guys aren’t choosing _anything?!_ Vic, honey, at _least_ the color scheme—”

“No, of course!” Victor replies immediately, clutching his chest and giving Chris a horrified look. “We’ve had long video calls about every single detail. But Mama Katsuki and Mari are the ones going to places, meeting people, et cetera.”

The relief is palpable. “Oh, thank God. Don’t scare me like that, _chéri._ And I trust you’ll text me the date as soon as you have it, right? Because until the invitation actually gets to Bern...”

Victor chuckles. “Yes, not the shortest trip. I can tell you right now it’ll be in April. All we’re missing is the exact day, but of course I’ll let you know. What made you think of it?” he asks curiously.

Chris looks away, eyes casually scanning the rest of the restaurant. Too casually.

“Oh you know. This and that. Just… the internet.”

Victor squints. Chris looks back at him innocently. 

“I see. And does the internet have anything interesting to say about my upcoming nuptials?” Victor presses. He wouldn’t, normally, but the purposeful casualness with which Chris has suddenly armed himself is beyond suspicious. Chris is many things, but _casual_ is not one of them, let alone innocent. 

With a shrug and a sly smile, Chris slides his phone over the table. There’s an article open, and a picture of Victor in his _Stammi Vicino_ costume.

> _Figure skating Living Legend Winkovice Kiforov announced his engagement this week to fellow skater Katsuki Yuuri, to the upset of millions of fans._
> 
> _They first met when Kiforov began coaching Katsuki during the 16-17 figure skating season, during which the two—_

Victor raises his eyebrows, skimming the rest of the article to its inevitable final joke.

> _We look forward to Mr. & Mr. Kiforov’s wedding. _

“How inaccurate,” Victor says, giving Chris his phone back and a bright smile. “That’s not when we first met! We met at the Sochi banquet the year before, I thought everyone knew that.”

He takes a long sip of his wine and does not meet Chris’ eyes.

  
  


5.

This is absolutely not where Victor’s supposed to be.

He’s _supposed_ to be checking out the songs Otabek recommended, seeing if there’s anything he likes. A skater never knows where their next short program or free skate might be, and who better to recommend new music than an actual DJ? It’s certainly worked wonders for Yurio’s choices this season (albeit at the cost of Yakov’s sanity. Lilia was surprisingly accepting of death metal, though, and everything Victor ever thought he knew about Lilia Baranovskaya was turned inside out).

And Victor really was appraising the songs — but all it took was scrolling down once. Just once, just one glimpse of the recommended videos, and it was all over, with Victor sliding down the YouTube rabbit hole.

From Billie Eilish he moved to a video about _Gone with the Wind,_ and from there to another about _Jurassic Park,_ which in its turn took him to one about genetic engineering and, well, he’s somehow ended up here, watching a video about a vizier of the Seljuk Empire in the 11th century. Sundays are like that.

> _Nizam al-Mulk was 52 when Sultan Alp Arslan was brutally murdered in 1072. But Malik Shah, his son and successor, asked him to stay on as prime-minister. As it happened, Malik Shah..._

As he listens, Victor’s eyes wander down to the comment section, which is as soothingly empty as one might expect on a video about an 11th century vizier. There are only a couple of comments, but one of them, with the unlikely words “figure skating,” immediately catches his eye. 

> **sinkorfloat** 11 months ago  
> Vizier Nizam al-Mulk. Isn’t that the figure skating guy?  
> 2.9K
> 
> **Lizzie** 11 months ago  
>  OH MY GOD  
>  178

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, throwing the phone on the bed and heading towards the bathroom. He needs a long, long shower, and for Yuuri to join him when he’s done walking Makkachin.

He figures this one is on him, though. Everyone knows you should never, ever, check the comments.

+1

Victor pauses the Blu-ray, despite Yuuri having told him there's no need to. "It'll be two seconds." An exaggeration, but sure, getting the food won't take long. The most Yuuri can miss is a few bars of "Elephant Love Medley," but _no one_ should miss any bars whatsoever of "Elephant Love Medley," regardless of how many times they've seen _Moulin Rouge._ And Yuuri hasn't watched it nearly enough times, just the four or five with Victor.

The conclusion, of course, is that nobody's perfect. Not even Katsuki Yuuri, as much as it pains Victor to admit it.

Speaking of perfect… he should really tell Yakov he and Yuuri have finally chosen the perfect song for Yuuri's next short program. He's been pestering them for long enough. 

_"Victor Andreyevich_ ** _,_** _I'm_ _telling you right now, I won't let you contaminate Katsuki with your bad habits! You want to leave your own music choices to the last minute, fine, it's up to you! But don't think for a minute I'll let you do that with him! I don't care that you're married—"_

_"Soon to be married."_

_"Married in practice! Just pick a damn song already, this boy needs a short program!"_

Truth be told, Yakov does have a point. He and Yuuri are definitely married in practice. 

While Yuuri gets the door and pays the delivery person, Victor picks up his phone to text Yakov and put the matter to rest once and for all. 

_Song picked! And I already have some things in mind for the routine! See you on Monday!_

There, that should— 

_♪ Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_ _  
__Ho paura di perderti ♪_

Victor looks to his left: that's Yuuri's ringtone. But the ringtone for _him,_ Victor. What the…?

He grabs the phone: on the locked screen is the message Victor just sent Yakov. Only, he sent it to Yuuri instead; with a smile, he realizes he picked Yuuri's contact on auto-pilot.

The smile slowly dies when his eyes catch the name saved on Yuuri's phone. 

**Victory tony kirkoff**

_Song picked! And I already have some things in mind for the routine! See you on Monday!_

He stares at the screen, speechless.

“They didn’t have the vegetable spring rolls today,” says Yuuri, coming back into the room with the food, “so they sent us Peking duck instead, and twice as many, which I’m more than fine wi— Vitya? Is everything okay?”

Victor sighs, unsuccessful in fighting off his ever-increasing annoyance. With no alternative, he gives Yuuri his camera-ready smile.

 _“Solnyshkno,_ would you mind saving my number on your phone with my actual name?” He asks, with his best (and probably failed) attempt at nonchalance. _“Love of my life” would also make for a great contact name,_ he doesn’t add. “Tony Kirkoff is… original, I’ll give you that, but—” He stops at the shriek Yuuri lets out.

“How did you—?! I mean, you’re not— oh my God,” he splutters, burying his face on his hands.

Victor’s eyes go wide. That is… not the reaction of someone who made a joke and is seeing it come to fruition. He thought half the fun for everybody involved (except himself) was seeing Victor's reaction; has he gotten the joke wrong all this time? Is he _not_ supposed to know when people butcher his name?!

Oh God. He’s _old._ That’s what’s happening. He’s so old he no longer understands young people’s humor. But there’s only a four-year difference between he and Yuuri, surely that does not translate to— 

“That’s from Sochi,” Yuuri whines from behind his hands.

“That’s… I’m sorry, what?”

With a deep sigh, the kind that comes from the bottom of your stomach and morphs into a groan halfway through, Yuuri sets the bags of food on the coffee table and flops next to him on the couch.

“You gave me your number in Sochi, didn’t you?” he asks despondently.

“Yes, I— you remember it? I thought—”

“I don’t, but… I woke up the next day with the worst hangover of my _life,_ and when I checked my phone, it was open on the contact list with ‘Victory tony kirkoff,’ and I had no idea who that was supposed to be. It was just those 7 digits, no area code, no country code, nothing, and I— I didn’t even think it could be _you,_ I mean…” He opens his hands in a helpless gesture, and Victor knows what this means. 2015 Yuuri would’ve never, in a million years, contemplated the possibility that Living Legend Victor Nikiforov would even say hi to him, let alone give him his number.

“So I forgot all about it. But after you guys told me about the Sochi banquet,” he continues, his trademark blush coming up — just a hint, but enough for Victor to appreciate it, "I thought of that tony kirkoff thing again, so I compared the number with yours and of course, it was the same one. I must've tried to save your name using the swipe function that night, or maybe voice command? Neither of which is exactly accurate when you're drunk," he adds bitterly. "So that's what I ended up with."

"And you decided to… keep it?" Victor asks, confused. 

Yuuri bites his lip. "Well, it's just that… everyone remembers that night, except me. No matter how many photos or videos I see, I don't have a single memory of it. I don’t remember the first time we met, the first time we talked, or danced, and it’s…” He completes the thought with a shrug, looking at his own hands as he picks at his cuticles. Victor’s seen Yuuri do it enough times before a competition to use it as measurement of Yuuri’s state of mind: a notch above ‘listening to music to drown out whatever’s making him nervous’, and a couple of notches below ‘not being able to sleep a wink.’ The nervous tick tells Victor more than the rest of that sentence ever could.

Ever since he found out Yuuri had no recollection of their first meeting, Victor has only considered his own side of it: how he’d been a fool to spend months pining after someone who didn’t call him after a party; how unfair he’d been to Yuuri, choreographing a whole routine that painted him as something he was not; how much of a crazy person he’d probably seemed to Yuuri, moving all the way from Russia to Hasetsu to coach someone who thinks you’ve never even met before. But not once has he thought about what Yuuri must feel about having no memories of what turned out to be the most important night in his life, too.

“But the tony kirkoff thing,” Yuuri says, raising his head to meet Victor’s eyes, “it was _me,_ you know? It's _my_ record of that night. It's me showing myself that I _met_ you, that you gave me your number, that you _wanted_ me to call you. So I kept it. I already had your number saved as 'Vitya' by then, so I merged the contacts and… kept tony kirkoff.” He rubs his eyes under the glasses. "I'm sorry, it's so stupid, I'll change it back to 'Vitya,' it's super not fair to you."

With a chuckle, Victor wraps an arm around Yuuri's shoulders and brings him closer. "That won't be necessary, _solnyshko._ Keep it that way."

Yuuri furrows his brow. "Are you sure? I know the name jokes aren’t exactly fun for you."

"Meh," says Victor with a grand shrug, "it is what it is. It’s true that I do wish the internet would spell my name right at least once, but…” He smiles down at Yuuri and places a kiss on his head, lingering there for another second with his eyes closed and nose buried in Yuuri’s hair. “You’re not the internet. So yes, perhaps you can’t quite pronounce ‘Victor Nikiforov’ when you’re drunk, but so long as you say my name right at the altar, it’s fine,” he says, giving him another kiss.

Yuuri breathes out a small laugh. “I think I can manage that.”

“And then we can hyphenate it to Kirkoff-Kisuki, or Kisuki-Kirkoff, whichever you prefer,” Victor adds with a wink.

That gets him a puzzled look. “Kisuki? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know, that picture from Worlds that showed up the other day!”

“What picture?”

Victor stares. Is it at all possible Yuuri hasn’t seen it? Worse: that _Phichit_ hasn’t seen it (and sent it to Yuuri immediately)? Did Victor hallucinate it?!

He takes his phone from the coffee table and furiously scrolls through his likes on Instagram; as soon as he finds the post, he offers it to Yuuri. It’s a picture of the audience at Worlds, of a section where everyone is clearly a Yuuri fan: everyone has a Japanese flag, or a small stuffed poodle, or a poster of him. Carefully, Victor pinches the screen and enlarges one particular member of the audience, who has a white banner with Yuuri’s name perfectly spelled in kanji, and… less perfectly spelled in romaji.

**Yuri Kisuki**

Yuuri stares at it.

“This is… wow.”

“Yup.” 

“I guess it comes for all of us in the end, huh?” he asks amusedly, giving Victor his phone back.

Victor nods slowly, his mind now working in a very specific direction. “It sure does. So, um… dinner and movie?”

“Yeah, let’s! Let me get the wine,” Yuuri replies, giving Victor one last kiss before getting up.

As soon as Yuuri disappears into the kitchen, Victor hastily goes back to his phone. He has a couple of texts to send.

* * *

Yuuri’s phone chimes right in the middle of Ewan McGregor belting his heart out during “Roxanne,” and Yuuri instinctively takes it to see who’s texting him. Under normal circumstances, Victor would think it a crime to allow yourself to be distracted from Ewan McGregor, but if this is what he hopes it is, well, it will be worth it.

Three seconds go by before Yuuri shoots him a death glare. “You.”

“What about me?” Victor asks, opening his eyes wider than actual innocence would allow.

Wordlessly, Yuuri shows him a tweet on his phone screen:

> **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit+chu  
> Yuri Kisuki is my favorite skater
> 
> [picture of the audience member holding the misspelled banner]

Victor does a poor job of pretending to be coughing instead of laughing.

“I guess Phichit saw that picture too, huh?”

“Don’t you dare say you don’t have anything to do with it,” Yuuri says drily.

“Well, _solnyshko,_ you know what they say,” Victor says, taking the bottle of wine and refilling Yuuri’s glass. “Couples that get misspelled together stay together.”

Yuuri hums, raising an eyebrow and trying to contain a smile. “Right. Well, then,” he says, raising his glass in a toast, “here’s to a wonderful Kisuki-Kirkoff wedding.”

Victor beams, clinking his glass against Yuuri’s. “And to all the years we’ll have after that.”

**Author's Note:**

> SO LISTEN.  
> I know this is not C Major or HMC AU or yuki-onna AU, but please l i s t e n. The minute I saw this on twitter, I knew what I had to do. How could I, after having written Victor Katsuki-Nuggetfluff, NOT write its obvious sequel??? It'd be irresponsible of me, really. Sooooo... here you have it XD
> 
> Thank you to [Alli](https://twitter.com/nikiforoov) and [impatvish](https://twitter.com/impatvish) for drawing everyone's attention to this absolute GEM 😂 And to [Rae](https://twitter.com/raegardinglove) and [aes](https://twitter.com/aeslis) for the wonderful beta-reading, as always! 💕
> 
> (And to those who are subscribed to me in the hopes I'll finish my YOI wips, and all they get is star wars e-mails: do not lose faith. I promise my 3 wips will be finished. 😘)


End file.
